


Good Guys Finish Last

by orphan_account



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers - All Fandoms
Genre: Spideypool - Freeform, Superfamily
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-01
Updated: 2012-09-21
Packaged: 2017-11-13 07:36:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/501045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>... and make the bad guys feel good all the while.</p>
<p>In which Deadpool kind-of becomes an Avenger, and falls face-first for a mysterious masked stranger. And Tony Stark has teenage girl emotion issues and Steve Rogers just wants to be told he's pretty (good at adapting) and Clint Barton is going to somehow come up with a plan to make out with one or all of the other Avengers and yeah. Just stuff like that.</p>
<p>Mainly, Deadpool kind-of becomes an Avenger, though. And falls in lesbians with a mysterious stranger. That's important.</p>
<p>Based on <a href="http://interspeciesspacefightinglesbian.tumblr.com/post/30640247671/in-the-deadpool-comics-deadpool-wears-spiderman-undies%22">this</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You (a.k.a. Author, that's me, actually) Give Pre-Slash a Bad Name

**Author's Note:**

> At the moment this is kind of like... pre-pre-slash? It'll get juicier later though (hopefully).....
> 
> Sorry for ending on a cliffhanger (I'll get the next chapter up in the next few days hopefully??) buuuut although I write best on a headache there's only so much I can take unintentional rhyme.
> 
> Anyways, only the beginning part of this has been beta'd and I haven't bothered to reread it (see:headache) so if you guys could all be specfabulous people and leave crits etc I'd appreciate it!
> 
> Actually I just adore all comments ever please leave comments?? ; A; /clings desperately

“Tell me, why the hell is Wade Wilson in our Avengers meeting?” asks Tony Stark, annoyance coupled with sleep exhaustion and the bags under his eyes making him look like some kind of grumpy facial-haired phantom as he strides into the room with a walk that says _I got seven minutes of sleep this whole week and there are twelve things I wanted to do yesterday do not mess with me or by god I will end you_. “He is not an Avenger.” He pauses for a moment, glancing around, and when nobody starts to beat up the Merc with a Mouth, he adds, “This is an Avengers meeting.” Just in case it wasn’t explicitly clear.  
  
And then, after another pause, he says, confusedly, “Is he?” His voice rises and cracks just a little with panic at the thought.  
  
“Deadpool is not an Avenger,” confirms Natasha Romanoff, Black Widow, a tiny little tugging-up of the corners of her lips indicating that she’s pretty amused at Tony’s panic.  
  
Tony lets out a great heaving sigh.  
  
“He is an Avengers _consultant_ ,” says Natasha, and Tony can’t hear her add “well, technically, a SHIELD consultant” over the sudden roaring in his ears, which has appeared alongside a sudden tick in his left eye.  
  
“Whose idea was this?” asks Tony, casting an accusing glare at each of them in turn--Thor glares stoically back, looking only slightly confused at what he’s supposed to be glaring about, Clint just grins a _yeah okay I’m not exactly sure either but it’s hilarious to see you pissed_ kind of grin, Natasha raises a single eyebrow (Tony, of course, looks away), and Bruce just shrugs in that _well, what can you do?_ kind of way.  
  
Finally, he meets the eye of Cap, good ol’ trusty Cap, who looks apologetic--probably in sympathy, of course, and opens his mouth, probably to utter some comforting words, and says:  
  
“Mine.”  
  
  
  
Steve Rogers somehow manages to choke down a laugh for the sake of keeping the proper decorum and all of that, but the look that Tony gives him is so tragically wounded that it’s hard.  
  
 _How could you do this to me,_ say Tony’s big, expressive eyes. _I thought we were bros. I gave you a shield polishing robot for your birthday!_  
  
Which reminds him of the fact that he’s locked it in the bottom drawer of a file cabinet (one of his sturdier ones) and the little robot’s never seen the light of day, and that makes him feel a bit guilty. But not _quite_ guilty enough to get him to totally conquer his technophobia.  
  
Wade, on the other hand, seems to have no similar feelings of guilt, and no decorum to be kept.  
  
“Wow, you look, like... _utterly ridiculous!_ ” chortles the ever-so-charming mercenary, his mask getting all wrinkled as he laughs his dry, gritty laugh, and Tony’s face goes from Shakespearean tragedy wounded back to Tony Stark Is Pretty Annoyed. “I mean, not in a bad way or anything, though. It’s just, those doe eyes. Heh.”  
  
“Why are you here, Wilson?” is Tony’s reply.  
  
“‘Cause I just wanted to reconnect with my good ol’ superhero team, the Avengers! Duh! And maybe, y’know, reconnect with a coupla old flames,” says Wade.  
  
Natasha and Clint grimace in sync.  
  
“Wade’s dark counterpart is back, and Fury and I decided that it would be best if we had at least one of the two Deadpools on our side,” Steve says evenly, although his lips twitch up a little at Clint and Natasha’s reactions.  
  
Tony lets out a groan and sinks into a seat, discreetly grabbing Bruce’s coffee mug and sliding it towards himself as he does so. He wants to at least have a little (more) caffeine spiking through his system before he watches his--well, technically, _the_ and not _his_ , but they’re all meeting in _his_ tower and using _his_ tech--Avengers disassemble right before his very eyes.  
  
Because _Wade Freakin’ Wilson_.  
  
  
  
All in all, the meeting goes along better than Steve had thought it would. Wade only gets shot twice in total--a new record, yay for progress!--and the team comes up with some pretty decent emergency plan outlines (only four of which include the nuking of all of New York City) and Tony, although he pouts for the rest of the meeting in that teenage girl-like yet somehow endearing manner of his, refrains from being too severely disruptive.  
  
And then Steve thinks about what he is thinking about, and winces-- _refrains from being too disruptive_. God, he feels old, all of a sudden, like an aged schoolteacher or something.  
  
It’s not even that he’s tried out for this role he has, whatever the hell you could call it--resident straight-lace? Whatever, though, he’s still fun, right? Despite the fact that currently, while all the other Avengers are out--presumably partying or something--he is headed back to his room to, well, polish his shield. Like he does after every other Avengers meeting.  
  
God.  
  
As if on cue, his phone buzzes. It’s one of those fancy packages that can do a thousand things at once and probably brew coffee, too--not that he’d know, not ever using it for anything besides phone calls and the occasional text, like the following one from Tony:  
  
“Cap, you have ruined my life,” it reads, in that crisp, grammatically correct way of Tony’s.  
  
“sorry...?” Steve texts back, feeling less awkward than he’d used to with his thumbs on those tiny little keys, but still somewhat awkward nonetheless as he taps away at the screen.  
  
“Whoa, dost mine eyes deceive me?” asks a voice, its owner smoothly falling into step beside Steve. “ _Captain America_ , using a modern cellular device?”  
  
“Wade,” Steve acknowledges, admittedly glad of the distraction from his musings. Even if the distraction is, as Tony puts it so kindly, _Wade Freakin’ Wilson_.  
  
“Cap,” replies Wade cheerily. “Man of the hour--or, should I say, man of the _century?_ ” And then he cracks up like it’s the funniest thing ever, even though it’s admittedly a little bit humorous but mostly depressing.  
  
“A century--it can’t have been a century?” murmurs Steve, this unusually contemplative mood serving the dual purpose of making him less able to sufficiently filter his thoughts, as well as making him sound like an angsty teenager caught up in things he should have gotten over ages ago.  
  
Wade narrows his eyes at Steve. “Hey, are you trying to trick me into doing math?” he asks, his voice laden with suspicion. “‘Cause, I’m sorry, Cap, but I’m smarter’n that.”  
  
The barefaced hostility surprises a chuckle out of Steve.  
  
“You _laughin’_ at me, Cap? Just ‘cause I’m not one of your fancy Avengers?”  
  
“If you think I’d laugh at you for not being an Avenger, you probably don’t know me very well,” says Steve, calmly. “If you really want to know, it was because, well--”  
  
“‘Cause _what?_ ” Wade’s chin juts out challengingly, although not quite as challengingly as it was thirty seconds ago.  
  
“You know what, Wade Wilson? You’re not that bad.”  
  
And with that, Steve makes a left down a side corridor and leaves Wade standing there, the top part of his mask all wrinkled from the befuddled crease in the expression underneath the cloth. His mouth is hanging open in an undignified fashion.  
  
Strangely enough, Steve feels better.  
  
  
  
Steve’s fully recovered from his brief moment of totally embarrassing (albeit secret) emotional weakness by the time he’s finished his daily jog the next morning. There’s just something about a jog through Central Park in the time of day when the sky first begins to pinken. Maybe it’s just being able to breathe in the crisp snappy air from the night before amongst trees.  
  
He arrives back to the Tower at around six-thirty, coated in a light sheen of sweat and generally feeling a lot better about the multiverse, and heads into the kitchen to start the first pot of coffee for the day.  
  
Coffee-brewing is something of a holy ritual in Avengers Tower, and goes down something like this: Steve puts on the first pot, and then, slowly, the team begins to slowly zombie-walk their way down to the kitchen, after which all of them spend a few moments both feeding their caffeine addictions and making sweet, sweet metaphorical love to their mugs. During this last part, many grateful words are uttered to various gods, including, but not limited to-- _thank the Allfather_ , _dear Lord_ , and _Cap, you are a goddamned angel, did you know that?_  
  
Absentmindedly, Steve wonders who will be the first to wander in, lured by the tantalizing scent of roasting coffee beans. And on top of this, he’s feeling both incredibly relaxed, being in friendly territory and all--which is why he almost trips over the red-and-black clad Regeneratin’ Degenerate lying on the floor.  
  
“Wade--?” he sputters, managing to find his voice after a beat.  
  
“Mm?” asks the man in question, tilting his head up.  
  
“Isn’t this where I left you yesterday?” Steve wonders aloud, those true blue eyes of his clouding a bit with concern.  
  
“Maybe,” is the insufficient response. “Might have wandered a bit. Might not have.”  
  
“ _Dear Lord,_ Wade, what have you been doing here all night?” asks Steve.  
  
“‘M not Lord. Doing your mom. And... thinking.” Wade’s voice is flat and inflectionless.  
  
“...Wade?” Steve’s voice, on the other hand, is tinged with both worry and a smidge of curiosity.  
  
Wade blinks a few times, and shakes his head once, as if waking up from a trance. He then makes a face and clambers up from his legs-crossed position, shaking out his limbs a few times as well, to get his blood circulating again.  
  
“Ick. What’m I saying? _Thinking_ ,” he mutters, and then makes another face. “ _Ick!_ Anyways, Cap, I’m out. Pleasure speaking to you. I’m gonna go off and... kill a few puppies, or ravish chicks in corsets or something. Catch you ‘round!”  
  
“The next Avengers meeting’s on Thursday!” Steve calls as Wade scampers away.  
  
And while Steve enters the kitchen and begins the process of brewing the first pot of coffee, Wade Wilson meets Spiderman.


	2. Damn You, Demi Moore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's fondness for Demi Moore is taken advantage of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thank you for all of your kind words/comments/kudos, I love you all ~~ (keep leaving more please??? heartheart)
> 
> Anyways, apologies for how long it took to post this update, it's just that I've been spending a lot of time shipping Author/homework (tw:non-con) and yeah.
> 
> A quick sorry to all of those people who came here expecting more Steve/Tony/others buuuut we will get there eventually right?? I hope??

Peter’s initial reaction to running into a big slab of black and red is nervousness, since he’s still red spandex-clad himself, and there’s actually no real reason for Spider-Man to be at Avengers Tower this early in the morning. Because although Spider-Man is, of course, an Avenger (why wouldn’t he be, right?) he’s also the only Avenger not to live in the tower with everyone else, and the most secretive about his identity (see: the only one secret about his identity) and thus it doesn’t make sense to be roaming around the tower at a time when most of the others are usually out of costume.  
  
 _Who could it be?_ Peter wonders frantically, quickly running his mind through several possibilities.  
  
“Spidey?” asks a somewhat gravelly-sounding Demi Moore.  
  
Confused, Peter looks up--what is Demi Moore doing in Avengers Tower, and why is she so tall, and--  
  
Oh.  
  
 _Oh_.  
  
“Deadpool,” acknowledges Peter, trying not to be too disappointed.  
  
It’s clear he hasn’t tried nearly hard enough, because Wade’s mask dents downwards, indicating that he’s probably scowling.  
  
“What, Spidey?” Wade grits out, both his voice and posture tense. “I’m not good enough for the likes of you?”  
  
“ _What?_ ” replies Peter, because that’s the only thing that comes to mind. “What?”  
  
The crease in Wade’s mask bends further. “Y’know what you should do, Spider-Man?”  
  
“What?” slips out of Peter’s mouth again, before he can stop it.  
  
“Shove it. That’s what you can do. ‘Cause I’ve had enough Avengers mockin’ me for one day, thanks much--okay, well, an evening and a night and then a morning, if we’re counting, but who the hell counts anyways? I mean, I certainly wouldn’t. I’m just, oh, the ditzy lil merc that you can kinda just toss a compliment at so you can laugh at ‘im later when he gets all confused about it.”  
  
“Wade, what the hell--” begins Peter, but Wade cuts him off.  
  
“Oh, well, are we on _first name terms_ , Spidey?--or were we always on first-name terms,  or I never knew it ‘cause I don’t know your name?”  
  
“Deadpool--” says Peter, not liking the way this conversation is tilted, but Wade barrels on, the scowl replaced by a quirked brow and a tapping of a finger on his lips.  
  
“Actually, does anyone know your name?”  
  
“The point of a secret identity is to keep it a _secret_.” Peter manages to hide his rising panic with a firm tone, but he really, really doesn’t like the way that Wade is looking at him, head tilted. He looks _thoughtful_ \--and, well. Wade Wilson/Deadpool? Thoughtful?  
  
Wade rolls his eyes--Peter doesn’t actually know how he can tell (he’s _wearing a mask!_ ), but he knows that Wade rolled his eyes all the same. “ _Yeah,_ but the point of a secret is so people can figure it out. That’s why it has ‘seek’ in it, _duh!_ ”  
  
“Wow,” says Peter. “That was... was that a clever play on words? It was, wasn’t it?”  
  
Wade would probably be offended at the surprise in Peter’s voice--if he was listening, that is. As it goes, he’s still squinting thoughtfully at Peter. Which is starting to really, really creep Peter out.  
  
“Wade, what would it take to get you to stop looking at me like _that?_ ” asks Peter.  
  
“Hm... Dunno,” replies Wade with a shrug, and says, offhandedly, “ _Or_ , maybe you could kiss me, and then I’d look at you with like... infinite lust, instead of suspicion?”  
  
Here, he puckers up his lips, and then removes his lips from kissing stance in order to add, “Unless you’re, y’know, a bad kisser. ‘Cause then I’d just be pretty disappointed in you.”  
  
“So kissing you badly would get you off my case?”  
  
A nod. “Yup. Though, ‘course, a guy mostly hopes _not_ to be kissed badly, heh.”  
  
And a sigh. “I guess I’ll have to settle for second-best, though, huh? Second-best as in, you looking at me with infinite lust, instead of just screwing off totally. ‘Cause, see, the Amazing Spider-Man never kisses badly. It’s scientifically impossible--observe.”  
  
With that, Peter pushes up Wade’s mask--it feels cool under his heated fingers--and lowers his lips to Wade’s. As is to be expected, Wade’s lips are rough against the softness of Peter’s, but, surprisingly enough, it feels pretty good, this roughness. It’s not languorous and sensual like many of the other kisses that Peter has experienced--it’s more alive and, for some odd reason, infinitely more thrilling.  
  
Peter breaks away first, as he has to come up for air--technically, Wade needs air, too, in order to keep his brain and body functioning, but he’s happy to let a few parts of himself die off (they’ll grow back anyways) to further the longevity of this kiss.  
  
“Well, damn,” murmurs Wade, sounding content and a little bit dreamy, before he glances at Peter’s somewhat cocky grin and has an idea.  
  
“ _But_ ,” continues Wade, pasting on a cocky grin of his own, “It’s not really deserving of _infinite_ lust. Maybe, like, a week or two of lust, but that’s it. I’m sorry, Spidey, but your reputations precedes you.”  
  
Peter’s grin melts into a scowl, and he bites back, “Oh yeah? Well, watch _this!_ ” before diving at Wade’s lips again--the kiss is more urgent and fierce this time, as well as just as calloused as before.  
  
Salty and spicy and flavorful and delicious--it’s like he just _knows_ , somehow, knows the way that Wade likes it best.  
  
Eventually, Peter comes up for air again, with a triumphant look on his face, made even more triumphant when he sees how wobbly Wade’s legs are. “I win.”  
  
“Yup, you do,” Wade acknowledges easily. “Would this be a decent time to confess to cheating?”  
  
Peter frowns. “What?”  
  
Wade shrugs. “Well, what can I say? I’m not a hero like you, so I’m allowed to lie.”  
  
“What are you talking about, Wade?” Peter inquires, his eyebrows knitted close to each other.  
  
“You already won the first time,” Wade explains, grinning. “But we went for a rematch anyways.”  
  
“I--you--what,” Peter splutters.  
  
“Yup,” Wade agrees.  
  
For a brief moment, Peter sees red--but then he gains a hold of himself, and reminds himself that heroes aren’t allowed to kill people. On purpose, at least, and accidentally-on-purpose still, unfortunately, counts as on purpose, as his dads have taught him years ago.  
  
So he does the next best thing: he slings a web at Wade Wilson’s mouth, and stalks away. The words, “Fuck you, Wade Wilson,” echo behind him as he does so.  
  
Unfortunately for Peter, Wade is still able to move his mouth a bit, even when it’s webbed, and Peter has a lot of experience deciphering what people are saying behind webbed mouths, so that he knows that when Wade calls _“mff mff ifff mff mff!”_ at his back, his actual words are, “I look forward to it!”  
  
And dammit, Wade sounds a lot like Demi Moore, and Peter’ll be damned before he can be disgusted at any words that are said in a Demi Moore sort of voice.


	3. Coffee Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “To polygamy, marrying Cap, and coffee!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> blehhh sorry for how long updates are taking OTL  
> on the bright side I'm (mostly) caught up with homework!! (my mother would be so proud)
> 
>  
> 
> anyways to make up for the excess of spideypool in the previous chapter, have a short stony (+forever alone Clint?) coffee break! :D
> 
> as always, crits/comments/random proclamations of how awesome HYDRA is are loved lots!

Around the time of Wade and Peter’s second kiss, Tony Stark wanders downstairs, lured as he always is by the siren-like smell of coffee.  
  
Steve chuckles a bit to himself at the adorably catatonic Tony, who was probably up all night reinventing the wheel because he wanted to prove that he could do it better and faster.  
  
“Black, as usual?” he asks, extracting a mug from a cabinet, while Tony plops down at the table and rubs at his eyes, under which there are remarkably impressive bags.  
  
“I love you, Cap,” murmurs Tony, which Steve translates to a _yes, Steve, I would very much like my coffee black, as per usual_. “Did I ever tell you that? You’re gorgeous and nice and you brew me coffee. Maybe we should get married or something.”  
  
Steve chuckles and pushes the now-filled mug of dark roast towards Tony, who inhales the smoke wafting up in wisps like he’s drowning and it’s the only source of air. Like always, this worries Steve somewhat, but he’s long since decided to pick his battles, and he knows that if he decides to crusader this battle in particular, the entire Avengers Initiative and most of S.H.I.E.L.D. will hang him up by his toes from the top of the Tower and write right beside his maimed-or-possibly-dead body, “CAFFEINE-OPPOSERS, BE WARNED”. And if he wasn’t dead, Nick Fury would probably hire a pair of ravens to eat out his guts every week or something like that. So instead he chooses to smile serenely and watch with a certain amusement as Tony chugs down the first cup like it’s salvation itself (and lukewarm instead of scalding hot), and then rises for another cup.  
  
“You know, Cap,” remarks Tony, sitting back down. His words are more clear, and his syllables less slurred, as he sips at the _WARNING: CAN GO FROM NORMAL TO BITCH IN .2 SECONDS_ emblazoned mug (a Christmas gift from Natasha, whose sense of humor Steve occasionally has a bit of trouble understanding). “If everyone in America had you to brew their morning pot, I’m pretty sure that there’d be a lot less supervillains around.”  
  
There’s a laugh from the doorway, which soon dissolves into a huge yawn, as Clint Barton stretches luxuriously in that almost cat-like manner of his, his eyes sleepy but more cognizant than Tony’s were when he first walked in. “And plus, polygamy would be legal, too,” adds Clint, as he situates himself besides Tony.

His eyes glint with an eager anticipation as Steve procures a cup--it has _MORE LIKE: HOT GUY!_ written on it in permanent marker--and proceeds to pour some of the miraculous black liquid into it. God, coffee is the _best_. _The best_.  
  
“Hm?” asks Steve as he hands Clint the mug.  
  
“‘Cause everyone would want to marry you, Cap,” replies Clint with a grin, popping in a few sugar cubes and a liberal dose of creamer before flicking the ceramic a few times for a _clink_ and then raising his mug in a toast.  
  
“To polygamy, marrying Cap, and coffee!” he crows, and Tony echoes him over his third cup of the stuff.  
  
To his credit, Steve only blushes a _tiny_ bit, at the tips of his ears.


	4. Hey, Sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spider-Man has Problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yup feel free to pound on me if there's grammar flaws or whatever because it's late at night and yeah @__@

Tony is deep into his fourth refill when a somewhat rumpled-looking Spider-Man enters the room. It’s hard to look totally rumpled when covered in blue-and-red spandex from head to toe, but Spider-Man manages it nonetheless, through a combination of sideways-skewed mask and a flustered-looking posture.  
  
“Don’t you look perky this morning,” comments Clint, studiously chewing a bagel because of the donut ban in place since three weeks ago, in which he and the crew had a ridiculous donut pig-out fest and ended up nearly alternatively too sick and too wired to bust up HYDRA.  
  
Clint’s defense is that, well, it was a _nearly_ , and everything ended okay, but yeah, like Nick Fury’s going to buy that--so, bagels it is.  
  
Spider-Man either doesn’t hear or chooses to ignore the comment--probably the latter, although it does surprise Clint a bit that good ol’ Spidey doesn’t have a sharp-tongued, good-natured barb to toss back at him.  
  
And instead of making wonderfully clever (or stupid, both worked) banter with the fair-haired archer, Spider-Man opts to plop down on the table and rest his mask-covered head on his hands.  
  
There is a moment of curious silence from the table as they wait for him to collect himself, and they are not disappointed--a few seconds later, Spider-Man lifts his head and asks:  
  
“Why the _hell_ is Wade Wilson in the Tower?”  
  
A chuckle escapes from Steve--he disguises it with a consequent cough, which makes Tony gaze at him with Worried Mother Hen eyes (which is pretty funny once you consider the fact that Tony would probably starve himself to death if S.H.I.E.L.D. didn’t keep his fridge stocked). The look and the cough are gone after a second, but Hawkeye is called _Hawkeye_ for a reason and besides, he’s had ample practice of his own in disguising his laughs. Because, well, you know, laughing at some of America’s greatest heroes or whatever, even when they’re being _ridiculously_ funny without knowing it, is considered rude, and Clint is absolutely nothing if not a gentleman, right?  
  
“He is an Avengers _consultant,_ ” says Steve with a remarkable amount of sympathy, especially considering the fact that he’s the one who let out a laugh at Spidey’s misery just now.  
  
At that, Spider-Man buries his face in his hands again. “Dammit, wait! Does that mean he’ll be, uh... _sticking around?_ ”  
  
“I doubt he’s as sticky as you are,” Clint informs him. “But yeah, he’s probably going to be around for the time being, as far as I know.”  
  
Spider-Man groans. “Oh. Man,” he sighs, and then rises. “I’m gonna go drown my sorrows in alcohol or something. And never coming back.”  
  
“Hey, Sunshine, don’t forget we’ve got emergency drill on Tuesday!” Clint calls after Spider-Man’s retreating figure, and absolutely because he’s a good Avenger and wants his fellow Avenger to know the dates and times of drills and the such, and totally not to get on his fellow Avenger’s nerves.  
  
“To hell with you, Barton,” Spider-Man says over his shoulder, his middle finger briefly jabbing the air in plain sight, at which the Brave, Bold, and True Captain America raises a single golden eyebrow.  
  
“ _Son_ ,” Steve says in that Way of his, the one that’s both understanding and condoning. It’s sort of a special talent of Steve’s, this making people feel guilty without making them mad at him. Briefly, Clint wonders that if _he_ called everyone “son”, like Cap does, he’d get to play father figure, too. (Not that he’d wish that burden on anyone.)  
  
Cap’s one word is enough--Spider-Man heaves a great sigh (his posture sags visibly)--and, as he walks out the door and begins to web his way across the New York skyline, he calls, “Yeah, I’ll be there.”


End file.
